


There’s No Denying, or, How Josh Learned How to Stop Worrying and Love Gray Hair

by toldthestars



Category: Drake & Josh
Genre: Brotherly Love, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toldthestars/pseuds/toldthestars
Summary: In which, Drake spies on Josh, with unexpected results.
Relationships: Josh Nichols/Drake Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	There’s No Denying, or, How Josh Learned How to Stop Worrying and Love Gray Hair

It wasn’t what it looked like.

Unless, of course, it looked like Drake had stolen Walter’s ladder from its dusty place in the garage in order to climb to the second floor to peer into the window of his own bedroom to spy on Josh and his girlfriend. Because, if that was what it looked like, then, yes, this was _exactly_ what it looked like.

But it wasn’t for creepy reasons, honest. Drake Parker did not believe that making out was a spectator sport. At least, not non-consensually. That wasn’t it at all. Drake was watching Mindy and Josh make out because....

Okay, so maybe he didn’t so much have an “explanation,” per say, but it was not about getting a cheap thrill. In fact, if given a choice between watching Mindy and Josh suck face and telling Megan that he may have been involved in the disappearance of her hamster, Mr. Cheeks...well, Drake knew what he’d pick. It would mean changing his name and moving to Yemen, but he knows what he would pick. And in his defense, how was he suppose to know that hamsters don’t bounce?

And yet, in spite of all that, here he was, with high-power binoculars no less…which he realized too late were kind of unnecessary unless he wanted to count Josh’s nose hairs. And he didn’t, particularly, at the moment (Drake did, however, file it away under “When I’m Really Bored”). No, right now, there were bigger concerns.

Drake just...it was like...see, no one else was home, and Josh and Mindy had headed upstairs, their faces all curled up into happy smiley giggly grossness. And then Drake had been left on the couch. Alone. With his thoughts. And his pudding, but mostly his thoughts...about what was happening in his own bedroom, for crying out loud. Josh kissing Mindy. Mindy kissing Josh. Putting her evil brainy mitts all over him.

Probably mauling the poor guy. Probably just...just violating poor pathetic Joshie. The more Drake thought about it, the more it seemed that someone needed to protect the naïve, innocent sap from being manhandled by Mindy Crenshaw, that....that…manhandler. Someone had to watch over the kid to stop Mindy from...well, just stop Mindy. And he decided that someone was him.

Then suddenly Drake was on a ladder with binoculars and a stirring of nausea in his gut. Yeah, they were kissing all right. Josh’s hair was bordering on Tina Turner proportions from Mindy raking her claws through it. Josh’s eyes were rolling back in an expression of... of what? Pain? Disgust? An allergic reaction to Mindy’s lip gloss? Could be anything, it was hard to say. Even with the binoculars. But Drake knew the sight alone was filling him up with fire and acid.

There was a familiar little voice in the back of Drake’s head--back beyond the muscle memory of playing a G chord, beyond the bra sizes of the entire cheerleading squad—and it was saying something, something involving the words “bad” and “idea.” It sounded a little like Josh. Drake was going to pay attention to it, he really was, but then Mindy’s hand disappeared between her body and Josh’s and parts of Drake's brain, including wherever that voice lived, exploded.

It took most of Drake’s restraint, such as it is, to stop him from blowing his cover, and it took all of his agility and balance to not fall. This time, Drake did employ the binoculars and he saw that Josh and Mindy had disconnected faces and Josh was talking. Drake read Josh’s lips, and got about as far as “Shnlf flether hif nng” before he gave in and admitted to himself that he could barely read words, so, yeah, Drake couldn’t really read lips.

Drake decided, in an uncharacteristic panic, that what he would do is calmly place his ear against the window pane, just to make sure Josh wasn’t saying “No means no!” What Drake actually did was slam his head against the glass and, for a second time, almost fall. After a horrible moment of wobbling, he regained his balance on the ladder quickly enough and let out a triumphant laugh that was promptly cut off when he returned his focus back to the bedroom and made direct eye contact with Mindy Crinshaw.

Oh, pudding.

Mindy screamed. Josh screamed. Drake, never one to be left out, also screamed. Then he fell, because third time’s a charm.

Drake clung to the ladder as it made a slow arc to eventually connect with the ground. Thankfully, it was autumn, and there just happened to be a large pile of wet, slimy, fragrant rotting leaves to break his fall.

Later, when there’s questions—and Drake was certain there would be questions—he will say he planned it this way. The leaves had caught Drake, and then Drake had caught the ladder. With his crotch. It was a major blow to an item of incredible value to him and rankly the entire population of San Diego.

Drake was quietly bidding farewell to his future children—Drake Jr., Drake the Third, and Drakina—when he heard a soft voice above him and felt gentle hands on his shoulders.

“Drake...hey, Drake...are you alive?” came Josh’s concerned voice. Drake’s eyes fluttered open, and Josh’s face hovered over him, looking so worried it hurt.

“Yeah,” Drake croaked. “I think I’m alive.”

“Good,” Josh sighed. “Because I’m going to kill you.”

Drake didn’t even have a chance to get out his strangled “mercy!” before Josh had set upon him with flailing hands, assaulting his head, neck and torso.

“What—in the name—of Oprah—is the matter with you?” Josh grit out between slaps.

“I am an injured person!” Drake wailed weakly as he pulled into fetal position. “Frail! Oh, frail...”

“Josh! Have you gone insane? Stop hitting him!” he heard Mindy’s voice crying. Drake hazarded a peek from under his arm to see Mindy dragging a panting, glaring Josh off of him. Mindy. His unlikely savior. Who’da thought. Maybe he’d been wrong about her all—

“You do more damage more efficiently by kicking,” Mindy explained to Josh.

Drake groaned. Well, so much for that. Goodbye, Drake Jr, he thought to himself. He curled into a tighter ball and sighed.

***

Josh three gray hairs, named Drake Jr., Drake the Third, and Drakina. Drake Parker is the reason that Josh Nichols is well versed in aromatherapy, meditation, stress relief breathing techniques, and yoga (which is also the reason Drake Parker is indirectly responsible for Josh’s pulled groin muscle, but that’s neither here nor there). Sometimes, these things help. Sometimes, however, no amount of jasmine scented candles or deep throat signing could bring him tranquility or make him want to throttle Drake Parker any less.

“What were you thinking?” Josh says again. “It was creepy, hazardous to your health, and what was that...oh yeah, CREEPY.”

Drake opens his mouth, pauses, and then closes it.

“Answers, Drake. I would like them,” Josh practically shouts.

Drake cringes. “Bird watching?” he says, lamely.

Josh tries to shoot daggers with his eyes. He tries hard. He’s not sure if he’s pulling off dagger. He hopes he’s at least managing, like, letter opener or push pin or something. “Drake,” he seethes. “If you’re gonna lie, at least try to be convincing. Don’t invade my privacy and insult my intelligence all in one day.”

That’s right. He’s seething. Josh Nichols can seethe. Right now, he is the Seethinator. He is the King of Seeth, he is—

“I’m sorry, okay?” Drake mutters, adjusting the ice pack between his legs. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I just want to know why.” When Drake doesn’t answer, Josh goes on. “I mean, did you get your big laugh? I know, someone wanting to kiss Josh—it’s hilarious. Was it a hoot?”

Drake’s face scrunches. “Hoot? Seriously? A hoot?”

“So not the time,” Josh warns.

Drake shakes his head, looking wounded. “Well, I was not having a hoot, and I wasn't laughing. I wouldn’t laugh at you, Josh. Not about that anyway. I mean, I—“ Drake stops, takes a breath. “Josh, that’s not why.”

Josh almost doesn’t buy it, but there’s something about how...miserable...Drake looks. Josh is trying to hold on to his righteous—oh so righteous—anger, but...well...it’s just...it’s just that Drake looks like a kicked puppy and Josh is losing sight of who has egregiously wronged who. He sighs. He’s demoting himself. From King of Seeth to, like, Archduke. Maybe a Marquis.

“Well, what then, Drake? Tell me what’s going on.” He still manages to keep a hard edge to his voice. Archduke it is, then.

He crosses his arms and watches Drake shift on the same couch--pretty much in the same spot--where Mindy shoved her hand down his pants about half and hour ago. It’s been quite a rollercoaster of an afternoon. But Josh keeps focused and his eyes are glued on Drake, who keeps avoiding his gaze. Josh is trying to read his brothers expression, and lucky for him he’s awesome at reading, and right now Drake’s face is mostly a chapter on discomfort but there is a footnote and it says shame in very small font. Based on the close reading of the text, Josh thinks he has a hypothesis, and it’s so huge that Josh has to sit on the arm of the chair behind him.

“Drake,” Josh says slowly, moving carefully like a man on a minefield. “Are you...jealous?”

Drake suddenly stiffens and his eyes go wide, his neck whipping as he suddenly, finally looks at Josh. Then, almost immediately, he relaxes and leans back, throwing an arm across the back of the couch and ignoring the plop of the ice pack hitting the ground between his feet. “Pfft,” he says. “No.”

“You are,” Josh says, with eyes like saucers. Drake. Drake Parker. Drake “Voted Best Kisser in San Diego Every Year Since I Could Pucker” Parker is jealous of Josh. Josh “I Almost Win Science Fairs” Nichols.

“You’re jealous of me.”

“Come on, Josh,” Drake said with an eye roll. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, am I?”

“You are.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“....am i?”

“Stop it.”

“Fair enough. This still doesn’t change the fact that you,” and here, Josh felt it appropriate to point at Drake for clarity, “are jealous of me.” Josh pointed at himself, for emphasis.

That’s not it,” Drake answered, the stirrings of a scowl on his face.

“Of course it is,” Josh beamed. “You’re jealous of...” Something dawned on Josh. What, exactly, was Drake jealous of? He made out with hot girls all the time, mostly just stopping to eat, sleep, and occasionally breathe. It must have been not that Josh was kissing someone, but who he was kissing. He stared at Drake with jaw dangling.

“What?” Drake nearly squawked, looking slightly pale.

“It’s Mindy, isn’t it?” Josh whispered, as though someone might hear...and actually care. “You...want Mindy, don’t you?” Josh ignored Drake’s sudden shudder which sort of resembled a dry heave and plowed on, feeling that he was onto something. “That’s why you were watching us.” Josh ignored Drake’s sputtering protests and stood up, charging on. It was all so clear now. “That’s why you always act weird around her and why you don’t want us to be together.”

“No, Josh, you’re wrong!”

“It makes so much sense now. You can have any girl in San Diego, and the one that wants me is the one you want. I can’t believe it.”

“Listen, man, you’ve got it all wrong!”

Drake was almost pleading, but Josh was stuck in Seethinator mode, hell bent on the completion of his mission. “I don’t get it, Drake. Don’t I deserve someone? I’m just supposed to watch you go through your girlfriend-of-the-week routine alone, is that it? And now you’re gonna do the same thing to Mindy, and—“

“Josh, I don’t want Mindy!”

“The jig’s up, pal. Just admit it--you’re jealous that I was kissing Mindy.”

Suddenly, Drake was on his feet, in Josh’s face. “No, Josh, I’m jealous of Mindy for kissing y—“ And there Drake froze, mouth slightly open, not a muscle moving...like a carved statue, a piece of post-modern art entitled, _“Oh Shit.”_

Josh was part of the sculpture too. He was stuck, with his eyebrows stranded halfway up his forehead like mountaineers run out of supplies. Every other muscle in his face was tight and still, and his eyes hurt but blinking did not occur to him. It wasn’t so much what Drake said, it was the look on his face, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar of…God.

Outside, the sun crept below the horizon. Somewhere, one of the last few lightening bugs of summer hit the bug zapper.

“Drake...” Josh didn’t know what the next words were going to be, but he had to say something before they both started to collect dust.

“Nope,” said Drake, magically restored to a fully mobile human being. He was quickly moving to grab his jacket and was headed towards the door. “No no no no no. We’re just—no.”

“Where are you going?” Josh asked, trailing after Drake.

“Away. Out. Just—I’ll be back,” Drake said. He paused, and looked at Josh. He looked a little bit like he’d been hanging out in the eye of a tornado. And, hell, it sure felt like there had been a storm. Josh stepped forward, reaching, but it was too late. “I’m sorry,” Drake said quickly and, just as fast, turned and left and slammed the door behind him. Josh stared at it, as though waiting for it to say something further.

“I’ll, uh, just wait here, then,” Josh said in a small voice, sinking back into the chair. And that’s what Josh did.

He waited.

***

As Drake closed the bedroom door with painful caution behind him, he was grateful for three things. One, that his mother and Walter were off at the West Coast Weatherman’s convention and that Megan was staying at a “friends” house, which Drake pretty much believed was code for “In the Lab Finding Way to give Drake Parker and Josh Nichols the Ebola Virus,” but whatever, she wasn’t at home and that was good enough. The last thing he needed was his parents or his sister whining at him about how late it was and what was he doing and why was the sky blue and yadda yadda. Two, that Josh hadn’t bothered to follow Drake any further than the front door, otherwise Josh might have realized that Drake had spent the past six hours sitting in his car with a six-pack of Mocha Cola, trying to learn to belch “You Are My Sunshine.” The last _last_ thing Drake needed was Josh realizing what a loser he was, sitting around pouting like a lovesick kid after their...well, it hadn’t been a fight...after their whatever it was. Drake was hoping to finish the day with at least a shred of dignity.

Incidentally, he’d nailed “You Are My Sunshine.” Eventually. He couldn’t wait to show Josh. If Josh ever spoke to him again.

And thirdly, he was grateful for Mocha Cola. Because Mocha Cola was awesome.

Drake sneaked quietly towards his bed, not even daring a glance at Josh’s bed. He pulled himself up the ladder to his bed, realizing with bitter sorrow that ladders had lost all of their appeal, and flopped into his mattress. He lied in bed, staring at the dark ceiling and told himself that tomorrow was another day.

Super.

Then he rolled on his side, and laid his hand on the arm that wrapped around his waist.

Wait a second.

Drake and Josh both sat bolt upright. They looked at each other. They screamed. Drake reached out and fumbled until the light flicked on.

“Josh?” Drake gasped. His heart was actually trying to squeeze between his ribs and right out of his chest. Fucking Mocha Cola! It was finally going to the death of him. Oh, but it was kinda worth it.

“Hello,” Josh said sheepishly.

“Hi,” Drake deadpanned.

There was a pause, filled with heavy breathing and hard heartbeats.

“So. Uh. How was...out?”

“Delightful,” Drake replied, trying to pack as much sarcasm as he could into eight letters. Wait. Seven letters. Wait. D-i-l-i—no, D-e-l-i-t-e—oh _forget it._

There was yet another pause.

“Bit chilly, isn’t it?”

“ _Josh why are you in my bed?_ ” Drake shouted. Okay, it was more like a shriek, but Drake wouldn’t have admitted that under penalty of bad haircut.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Josh said, holding up his hands. He lowered them to twist his fingers in the comforter and stare down at his lap. His dark hair fell over his face and Drake’s heart did a weird thing that he blamed on the Mocha Cola. “I didn’t think you were coming back,” Josh said softly. “I really didn’t. I wouldn’t have done this if I thought...I didn’t mean to bother you.” And then Josh was moving. Leaving, it occurred to Drake, and Drake didn’t want Josh to _leave_ , not like this and then apparently whatever was left from Drake’s earlier brainxplosion went kablooey because he opted to block Josh’s departure with his lips. His lips.

His ever-loving lips.

Drake kissed Josh. So much for that last scrap of dignity. And Drake might have worried about that more except, holy crap, Josh had _lady lips_ they were so soft and smooth and…faintly strawberry flavored. It was nice. It was more than nice. It was _awesome._

And then Josh pulled away. And Drake realized that this was the end of it all. Now there would be tears or gasps of horror or vomiting or maybe violent punches that would break his nose and make every song he sang for the rest of his life sound like he was born without nostrils.

“Not the face,” Drake whimpered quietly.

“What?” Josh said.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Josh, that was wrong. I—I don’t know what I was doing. This whole day has been—can we just pretend today didn’t happen? I mean, seriously, dude, I’m not even in my right mind anymore. I was, I was just sitting out there with that six-pack—“

“Drake,” Josh said in a voice that cut through Drake’s babble, which was a feat because it was some serious babble. Drake had learned from the best babbler in the state—possibly the country. But now Josh was looking all serious with the furrowed brow and the tight lips and, mmm….lips. “Are you drunk?” Josh asked slowly.

“What? No. Mocha Cola,” Drake answered, tapping fingers on his thigh. “Six pack of Mocha Cola. So much Mocha. So much Cola.” Drake was perfectly happy to ride an excuse for the past thirty seconds. Josh simply stared at him, head slightly tilted, and then a grin appeared on his face. Not just any grin. Drake had seen Josh smile plenty of times of all their years in this room together, and this smile…a dizzy part of Drake thought this smile had been hiding, waiting for him to find it.

Then Drake shook his head because thoughts like that were really just the opposite of helpful right now.

“Drake, I—“

“I know, I know. What I did was…weird, and awkward, and probably even being drunk on fizzy drinks doesn’t make it okay.”

“Drake, listen—“

  
“I’ll move to the guest room, if you want. I’ll totally leave you and Mindy alone, too. I’ll apologize to her for today.” Drake thought for a moment. “In a really thoughtful note.” He thought some more. “That I’ll have delivered by courier monkey.” Drake paused and shook his head. “No, that’s cruel to the monkey. The point is, I’ll figure something out. Just…” Drake let out a breath that had been caught in his tight throat since he’d realized it was Josh’s arm slipped warm and comfortable around him. He looked over his shoulder, at the stars outside his window. He didn’t feel up to the risk of looking Josh in the eye. “Just don’t hate me.”

“Drake,” Josh said.

“Yes, Josh?” Drake said, still staring out the window like the backyard was the best view in the whole lousy world.

“You’re kinda stupid.” With that, Josh laid a hand on the back of Drake’s head and pulled him in for a kiss.

Okay. So Josh didn’t hate him. Drake wasn’t _entirely_ sure he knew what this was, but it wasn’t hate. He was pretty sure. Probably. He’d ask for clarification later. Much later.

At the moment, he was too busy being simultaneously delighted and shocked senseless that Josh knew exactly what he was doing. It was obvious as Josh’s tongue swiped over Drake’s lower lip, as it tangled with his own tongue, the sweet pull as Josh took Drake’s lip gently between his teeth. Josh’s fingers curled in Drake’s hair, pulling just a little with need. A noise came through Drake’s throat, and he would have the decency to be embarrassed, but he didn’t have enough brain left for complicated things like shame or restraint or…language.

When Josh pulled back, panting and said with a worried expression, “Is this okay?”, Drake meant to use words, he really did, but “Mmmfph” was all he could manage, punctuate with a slight grabby motion at Josh. Oh, man, and there was that smile again. Screw words. They were overrated.

Josh leaned back in, but dodged Drake’s lips and went straight to his neck, pressing warm and soft kisses against his heartbeat. Drake let his head hang back, because Josh should have access to all of his neck. All of it. The hot breath pouring out of Josh was definitely raising Drake’s temperature, and oh, Jesus, the way he sucked on Drake’s earlobe made Drake feel like he hadn’t really understood what that particular part of the body was for until now. It was for Josh to kiss. And nip. And lick. And generally turn Drake into stupid goo.

“Josh, man, I—“ Drake stopped abruptly. He what? No way. He was not that guy. He was not the dude who blurted out stupid emotional dog doo just because he was so turned on that he was losing I.Q. points.

Josh stopped, and hand on either side of Drake’s face, and looked him in the eye. Had Josh’s eyes always been that color? Sort of hovering somewhere between green and blue and maybe changing back and forth every moment? Must have been a trick of the light, Drake reasoned. Except, Josh had at some point killed the light—that minx, the innocence was totally an act just as Drake suspected. Josh’s eyebrows drew together and he looked serious, so serious that Drake’s stomach did a flip for a second, thinking sense had finally caught up with one of them and was now going to eviscerate this moment.

“Me too,” is what Josh said. And Drake breathed. Then he planted a hand on Drake’s shoulder and pushed him against the mattress. He swung a leg over Josh’s hip and leaned down to press his lips back to Josh’s oddly tasty mouth. Josh must have enjoyed being pushed around a little, because Drake felt his hips rolled underneath him and _jesus_ if that wasn’t more fun than…well, pretty much anything.

Drake devoted some time to tasting other parts of Josh, wondering if they tasted as good as his lips. His shoulders mostly just tasted like skin, but Josh turned his face towards him and his shaky breath echoed in Drake’s ear and that…that was hot. Josh murmured his name and Drake didn’t think his name had ever sounded quite that awesome. It would never sound the same again.

Josh worked Drake’s shirt off over his head, and then lifted to take off his own. Drake tried, but the _snnnnrk_ of laughter came out anyway when Josh’s head got stuck in the collar of his shirt.

“You know, I bet they make special shirts for people with your…condition,” Drake said as evenly as he could manage.

“I don’t have a freakishly large head!” Josh protested from inside the cocoon of fabric trapping his face.

“No. Course not.”

“Drake?”

“Yup?”

“…help.”

Ever the saintly sort, Drake helped Josh with his huge head. Once Josh was freed and looked a little less disoriented, Drake put his guitar-calloused fingertips against Josh’s cheeks. He looked at the starlight lighting up Josh's body. Drake knew there was a song in this somewhere, and it was going to be a hit.

They kissed and rolled, and rolled and kissed, in the process losing their pants and shorts until all Drake felt was Josh’s surface-of-the-sun hot skin on top of him and the rumpled cool sheets underneath him. That and, oh, his raging boner. Seriously, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard. His hips were grinding against whatever happened to be closest to him—he realized with a small amount of horror that he was basically humping Josh’s leg.

“Why Drake Parker,” Josh smiled in the dim light. It took a moment for Drake to understand that Josh was no longer kissing him, although for the life of him he couldn’t understand _why_. “I think I’m having an effect on you.”

“I blame the Mocha Cola,” Drake huffed.

“I’m like the King of Making Out,” Josh beamed happily.

Despite the agreement of every inch of Drake’s body with that statement, he scoffed. “Pfft. Archduke at best, man.”

“Oh yeah?” Josh replied with a twinkle in his killer eyes. And then there was that tongue again, tracing the curves of his ear, and reaching down to wrap surprisingly soft hand with a firm grip around Drake’s aching dick. Drake groaned loudly.

“I _am_ the King,” Josh whispered in Drake’s ear as he started slowly pumping his fist. “ _Thankyouverramuch._ ”

Not even the brief vision of Elvis—old, tragic Elvis, not young hot Elvis—did anything to diminish Drake’s need for Josh to keep touching him. He thrust his hips into Josh’s grip and, never one to be out done, snaked his hand between them and started stroking Josh. He ventured a long look down at Josh’s firm dick in his hand and swallowed loudly. Holy crap. Josh _was_ the King.

The room was filled with short, hard breathes and the sound of skin against skin. Drake arched his back against Josh and let Josh fill his shoulders and neck with kisses that were sure to turn to bruises, like a canvas being filled up. Drake’s skin felt so tight, but so good, like he was just filled to bursting with…with…awesome. He was going to die of awesome, in fact. He was starting to get to that familiar feeling, that feeling of being stretched out across the universe, just about to burst into beautiful nothing.

“Oh, God, Josh—I’m gonna come,” Drake moaned out.

“Hey,” Josh said in that deep, amazing voice of his. Drake had never heard Josh use this voice before, now he felt like he was very cheerfully drowning in it. “Wait for me.”

“Together?” Drake gasped.

“Together,” Josh rasped.

It seemed as reasonable a request a “hey, grab that moon for me,” but it sure as hell was a night for impossible things. But Drake bit his lip til it hurt, and he hung on to the edges of the universe until he heard Josh groaning out his name and say, “Now, Drake,” and then everything went up in a big sparkly starlit mess. Drake came so hard he couldn’t tell if the twinkling lights were behind his eyelids or out in the sky.

It. Was. Awesome.

They collapsed into gasping heaps on the mattress and laid there for long moments. Drake felt loose and loopy and he was just barely aware of a familiar voice far away in the very back of his mind saying something that sounded like “AWK” and “WARD.” He absently grabbed tissues from the windowsill, cleaned himself off. He let his head list to the side to hand the box to Josh, who was…not looking the way Drake felt. He looked sweaty and pale and he was gnawing his lip.

Shit.

Josh was being Josh. And Drake had to act fact, before this got ugly.

“Dude,” he said.

“I know,” Josh said quietly. He stared resolutely at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be when I tell Megan you stole her strawberry chapstick.”

Josh turned quickly to look at Drake, clearly panicked. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Josh’s terrified expression slowly faded away, and there was that smile that Drake was already starting to think of his. Josh chuckled, and Drake joined in, and then they laughed, and then they were bordering on unstoppable hysteria.

“Like you didn’t like it,” Josh attempted to tease, still wiping away tears and holding his stomach.

“I never said I didn’t,” Drake murmured, pulling close to Josh. He was content and sleepy and so comfortable it was criminal. He knew he had mere moments before he completely lost consciousness. He could spend that time saying something to Josh, but he’d never been especially good at the whole talking thing, so he just laid there, listening to Josh’s heart and enjoying the slow rise and fall of his chest.

If anyone had walked in at that moment, they would see Drake and Josh tangled up in sheets and each other. There would be no explaining it. It was exactly what it looked like. And as he drifted off, Drake couldn’t care less.

***

Josh felt good. He shouldn’t—he should feel horrible, awful, wrong, and dir---well, okay, he did feel a little dirty, but you couldn’t have paid him to move at the moment. Not when Drake was sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, looking unreal in the late-night/early-morning starlight. In the morning, there might be things he’d have to deal with—like, Mindy, for example, and he’d pretty much rather be locked in a cell with rabid anteaters than deal with that—but at the moment, he was feeling exceedingly…tranquil.

“Hey, Drake,” he whispered to the sleeping boy, carding his fingers through Drake’s soft brown hair. “Think I’ll look good with gray hair?”

“Mrrphfle,” Drake responded.

“Yeah,” said Josh. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, my one foray into Drake/Josh! Originally posted on my Livejournal. Thank you for reading!


End file.
